


She's a Catch

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6028150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy gets roped into going speed dating for Valentine's Day, partially because it's for a good cause and partially because he can't say no to Clarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's a Catch

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Happy belated Valentine's Day! I hope you all know you are loved  
> 2) This came from obsessions with Brooklyn 99 and Psych  
> 3) Feel free to comment with bad first date stories! I think they're fun, and who knows what they might inspire?

Bellamy had not planned to spend his Valentine’s Day at speed dating. To be honest, he hadn’t really planned anything out of the ordinary. He doesn’t have a girlfriend at the moment, so he didn’t have much of a reason to mark down the date. He’d actually forgotten that it was A Thing until his partner reminds him.

“I’d ask about your big plans for this weekend, but I know you, and I know that if you had any I would have heard about them already,” she says dryly. It’s Friday night and they’re walking out to the parking lot together. His cases tend to consume most of his thoughts, and over the past couple of years it’s become habit for him to realize it’s time to head out only when Clarke begins to pack her things.

“I might hang out with Miller,” Bellamy says defensively. “You don’t know my life.”

“If you don’t have concrete plans yet, you probably aren’t doing anything romantic Sunday.”

“Sunday?” He frowns. “Isn’t Saturday usually date night?”

“Not this weekend,” she says, like it’s obvious. “Sunday is Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh,” he snorts. “Yeah, no. Nothing romantic.”

It definitely is the kind of thing he would’ve mentioned to Clarke. She and Raven both love to heckle him about his love life, but she also usually adds a couple of insightful comments that have been helpful for him in the past.

“You telling me if Miller bought you dinner, you wouldn’t put out?” Clarke teases, slowing to a stop next to her car. She’s never met Miller, but she’s been Bellamy’s partner– and friend– long enough that she knows all about him.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he calls over his shoulder. “Have a good weekend, Griffin.”

“You too, Blake.”

His weekends are his preciously guarded relaxation time. He usually sleeps in Saturday morning, Skypes with Octavia in the afternoon, and maybe lets his friends drag him out to a bar or something at night. Sundays he hardly changes out of the boxers and t-shirt he sleeps in, catching up on TV or videogames or whatever book he currently has out from the library. That time is restful for him. It’s sacred.

Unfortunately, Clarke doesn’t have the same outlook. She doesn’t turn her brain off their cases, ever. It’s gotten to the point where he screens her calls and answers any texts or emails with gifs and memes from _Adventure Time_.

“Are you kidding me?” He demands, swinging his door open when she knocks on Sunday morning. “I don’t take your calls, so you show up at my place? If you wanted to hang out, you should have at least asked first. It’s not like I’d say no.”

“Noted,” she says cheerfully, handing him coffee and a doughnut.

“You’re such a stereotype, Griffin.”

“Did you not want a doughnut? Because I’ll eat it if you don’t.”

“No way,” he says, holding the gifts close to his chest. “These are mine.”

“That’s what I thought.” She pokes around his apartment with interest, inspecting closely the different framed photographs on his mantle. They’re all of him and Octavia, a present from her when she moved across the country for Lincoln’s new job. He doesn’t have the inclination or the decorating instinct to scatter them across different surfaces in his apartment, so they’re all lined up right where she left them.

“To what do I owe this visit?” He asks, trying not to be self-conscious that he’s in his boxers. She’s seen him worse, for sure, and it’s her fault for barging in with no notice, anyways.

“How do you feel about making some overtime?”

“You really want to work on _Valentine’s Day_?” Bellamy knows that Clarke is intimately familiar with heartbreak, but he thought she was doing better recently.

“You know the identity theft thing I’ve been working as a favor to Captain Kane over the past few weeks?”

“Workaholic,” he grumbles, trying not to sound too fond. “Regular caseload isn’t enough.”

“Pfft,” she waves him away like she’s swatting at a fly. “I’ve been trying to connect the victims, and I think I finally found it. None of them were in the same place at the same time, they frequent different restaurants and different neighborhoods, but each of them used their credit card– _once_ – at this restaurant, Wallace’s? Different months, but each of them were there on the second Tuesday at about the same time.”

Bellamy really wants to kick her out and go back to his relaxing, or better yet, get _her_ to relax and hang out for a while. The fastest way to get there might be to let her talk through whatever epiphany she’s had. In spite of himself, he grits his teeth, takes a breath, and says, “So?”

“So, I called the restaurant this morning and it turns out they host speed dating on the second Tuesday of the month. I know it’s a little weak, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

“Way to go. Good solve. Did you just come over to brag?”

“It’s not solved yet,” she says, shoving him in the arm, exasperated. “I came to see if you wanted in on the case. Get a little goodwill with the Captain, make a little pocket change?”

Bellamy considers it.

“What do you need me for? It sounds like you’re onto something.”

“Wallace’s is hosting a special speed dating event tonight in honor of Valentine’s Day.”

“Trying to capitalize on the portion of consumers who couldn’t find themselves dates for tonight?”

“You mean, like yourself?” Clarke smirks. “I figured I’d go tonight, scope out the place, see if anything jumps out at me. Unfortunately, this is a pretty heterosexual event, so I’m only going to be able to get a read on the men.”

“Ah,” Bellamy nods, finally on the same page. “You want me to come filter through the female suspects.”

“If I say pretty please, will that affect your answer?”

She sticks her lower lip out and widens her already killer blue eyes at him. He heaves a sigh but knows there’s no way he’s going to say no to her, much less when she’s making that face.

“Fine. But I absolutely refuse to talk about work or do anything productive until thirty minutes before we have to leave.”

“Deal,” she grins. “What are we watching?”

She doesn’t stay all afternoon; she leaves a couple of hours before the speed dating begins so she can get ready. When he starts to get ready, himself, he realizes he has no idea what the dress code is like.

 _what do I even wear to speed dating,_ he texts her.

 _tuxedo. tails, if you have them,_ Clarke responds, unhelpful as always.

_top hat: y or n?_

_Y,_ she sends immediately, following up with another text that reads, _jeans and a nice shirt is probably fine._ He expects that to be the end of it and tosses his phone on his bed while he changes. He’s pulling a sweater over his head when it buzzes again, this time with, _you look good in whatever, don’t try too hard._

He smiles stupidly at his phone for a second, then sends back, _i might leave the top hat at home then._

Wallace’s turns out to be more of a bar than a restaurant, which could have something to do with why they don’t get more Valentine’s Day dinner reservations. He shows up before Clarke gets there and the hostess directs him to the back, where numbered tables are set up and a few people are milling around.

He’d let her go over the basics of the case with him earlier that afternoon: five people, three men and two women, who’ve had their accounts drained when someone opened credit cards in their names. Clarke knows the what, she just doesn’t know the how or the who.

When she finally appears, she looks different than how he normally sees her. At the station, she usually has her hair braided away from her face, wearing business casual attire. Earlier that day, she’d had her blonde waves pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a sweatshirt and jogging pants. Now she’s got on jeans and a nice blouse, her hair curly and framing her face, and he thinks she might have even put makeup on. She looks nice, he thinks before he can stop himself. Like the kind of girl he wouldn’t mind meeting at a speed dating event.

She nods at him when their eyes meet, wandering over to a group of women who are waiting for the activity to begin. He makes small talk with a couple of the guys, trying to determine whether they’ve done this before or not. Whoever their perp is has done this at least five times before, so anyone new to the event is pretty easily discounted. Nothing they tell him is all that useful, but it’s a good distraction from thinking about what the next few hours hold.

“All right,” a woman chirps, ringing a little bell obnoxiously. “We’re going to start! Everyone please take a spot at one of the numbered tables. When you hear this sound–” she rings the bell again for effect, “you will know your five minutes is up. We’ll have the gentlemen stay seated and our ladies will move on to the next table. At the end of the event, you are all welcome to stay and mingle.” She waits until everyone is seated, then rings the bell once more, and they’re off.

“Hi,” Bellamy says, looking at the girl across from him. She’s pretty, maybe about his age, and he’s dreading this whole thing. Clarke will owe him so much.

“Hi,” she says, smiling at him. “I’m Maya.”

“Bellamy.”

“How are you doing tonight, Bellamy?”

“I, uh– I feel a little silly, honestly,” he says, going for sheepish sincerity. He knows from experience that’s one of the looks he can play well. “I wasn’t really planning to do anything for Valentine’s Day, but my friend roped me into coming to this. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I know what you mean,” she smiles. “This is my first time too. I just figured… why not, you know?”

Bellamy figures she could be lying to him, but he has a pretty trustworthy gut and it’s telling him that what she says is true. She’s probably not their thief, which means he has four minutes and thirty seconds to fill with her.

He breathes a sigh of relief when it’s over. Maya was easy enough to talk to, but they didn’t have much in common and the more they talked the more certain he was that he could rule her out as a suspect.

The next few women don’t send up any of his red flags either. One of them makes a lot of suggestive comments but seems otherwise harmless and the other has only recently moved to the area and showed up tonight in an effort to meet new people. His ‘date’ after that does come off a little suspicious, so he makes a couple of notes about her on the card Wallace’s provided.

The next woman is his partner.

“Hi, I’m Clarke,” she says, sliding into the empty chair and extending her hand with a wide grin. He hasn’t been watching her this whole time, but he’s heard her familiar laugh a couple of times, caught a couple of flashes of her blonde hair. She’s flushed and happy-looking and beautiful and this is why he doesn’t hang out with her outside of work.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Bellamy,” he says, amused at the charade. “How’s this whole speed dating thing going for you so far tonight? Anybody stand out yet?”

“Not yet,” she says, brushing him with her foot as she crosses her legs. “How about you?”

“Dr. Lorelei Tsing,” he says quieter, tilting his head at the table to his left, where his last date is now sitting. Clarke’s smile falters just a little and she casually cuts her eyes to the right.

“Is she a contender?”

“Possibly. It’s nothing but a gut feeling right now, though.”

“She was pretty chatty with the moderator before this all started. It’s possible she’s been here before. I’ll try to get a read on her when this is over, unless you want to get her number,” she smirks.

“I think I’m good, thanks.”

“Not into bad girls?” She asks, a playful glint in her eye. It hits him once again why he can’t get himself interested in meeting women out: he’s mentally compared every woman so far tonight to Clarke, and none of them have come anywhere close to measuring up. He’s so screwed.

“She’s not really my type,” he says after a pause that’s a little too long. She tilts her head at him, trying to figure out what just happened, and he changes the subject. “Alright, worst first date story. Go.”

“That’s a hard one,” she muses, casting her eyes to the ceiling. He takes the opportunity to study her profile in the soft glow of the table’s singular candle, then shakes his head to clear it. Now is not the time. He’s not sure the time will ever come, but he knows that this moment is not it.

“What, you don’t have any bad date stories?”

“The opposite actually,” she says, giving him a devious smile. “I’m trying to decide what’s worse: ‘found out halfway through she’s straight and didn’t know I thought it was a date’ or ‘picnic that ended up with me finding out about my bee allergy the hard way.’”

He laughs into his drink. He can totally picture Clarke in both of those situations, and he can’t wait to hold them over her head forever.

“I’ll see your bee allergy and raise you ‘broken leg because I tried to take her ice skating.’”

Only one of the other women sets off alarms in Bellamy’s head, but it’s less because he senses criminal intent and more because she spends their entire five minutes detailing the individual personalities of her 25 cats. Bellamy sincerely hopes she finds happiness with someone special, but he’s immensely glad all the same when the speed dating comes to a close.

He and Clarke stick around, separately, until all the other speed daters have left. One woman asks for Bellamy’s number, and he thinks about giving it to her, but declines because he thinks it would be unfair to her when he spent the whole time a) wondering if she’s an identity thief, and b) eavesdropping on Clarke’s conversation a few tables down. When Clarke dons her coat and makes to leave, he figures he’s done his duty and steps outside, waiting for her just down the block.

“I didn’t know I could be bad at speed dating,” he moans when she finally appears, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“What are you talking about? Everyone you talked to looked charmed,” Clarke says as he falls into step with her. “Besides, you’re great with strangers. You can talk about anything for five minutes.”

“No, I’m great at my job,” he counters, because it’s true. All his life, he’s performed best when he’s had an occasion to rise to. “And I’m great with people I know. I can talk about anything, or nothing, for as long as I want with you. But that’s not the norm.”

“I’m privileged,” she says, though it sounds a little funny. Like she meant for it to be a joke, but missed the mark.

“You should be,” he tells her, in what sounds to his ears like the same tone.

She lets him walk her to her car even though his is parked several blocks in the other direction, and it feels right. Normal. Like any other day on the job. Or so he tells himself.

The next morning, she’s (of course) already at the precinct when he arrives. He sets a muffin and a latte on her desk, relishing the small, tight smile she gives him for it. She told him once when she was drunk that she tries not to smile at work because she thinks it makes her look like a child playing dress up and she wants their colleagues to think of her as a professional. He didn’t have quite the words to tell her that he wishes she would smile more in general, and that nobody would dare to think of her as unprofessional. They’re all too afraid of her.

“Check it out,” she says, handing him a file. In it are photos of each of the speed daters from the previous night, each with neatly-written sticky notes that list their record and Clarke’s impressions. She’s left some of the stickies blank, presumably for him to add to.

“When did you have time for this?”

“Forget that, look at this.” She pulls Tsing’s photo and sets it on top. Only…

“She’s wearing a wedding dress,” he says, looking up at her in confusion. He’s certain the suspect had said she’d never been married.

“Keen eye, Detective. Her real name is Dr. Lorelei Tsing _Wallace–_ ”

“Wallace, like the owners of the restaurant, Wallace?”

“Yep. She doesn’t have a record, but her husband does. Cage Wallace. He was under investigation a few years back for money laundering but they didn’t have enough to convict.”

“Do we?” He asks, rifling through the rest of the file.

“Not yet, but we will,” Clarke says, confident. “What did she say last night that tipped you off?”

“Hang on.” He digs around in his messenger bag and coming up with his comment card from the night before. “Aha.”

“You used that? And then kept it?” Her mouth is full of muffin but he can tell she’s laughing at him.

“Of course. I’m a professional. Besides, like seventy percent of it is ridiculous thoughts I had or weird things the women said that I wanted to laugh about with you later. Precious memories.”

He scans the card as he’s talking, finding the section about Tsing and translating his shorthand, so he misses the look that crosses his partner’s face.

“Here it is,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, right. How did I forget? She weirded me out because she brought up my mom.”

“During speed dating?” Clarke frowns. “What did she say?”

“It was part of a thinly veiled attempt to guess at my ethnicity.”

“I guess your last name doesn’t give much away.”

“That’s what it was,” he says, slapping his desk as he remembers. “She wanted to know my mom’s maiden name. Isn’t that a question the bank asks you to verify your identity?”

“That’s brilliant,” Clarke says, turning to her computer and typing something unbelievably fast. “I’m looking up other questions they usually ask. Childhood pet–”

“I think we did talk about pets at one point.”

“–favorite color–”

“Yeah, she asked me that too,” he recalls.

“She covered a lot of ground in five minutes.” Clarke sounds almost admiring and he can’t help but agree. Even if she is using her powers for evil, Dr. Tsing’s skills at manipulating a conversation are impressive to him after his tiresome speed dating experience.

They bring their theory to Kane, who helps them get a warrant to investigate the Wallace’s financials. Bellamy and Clarke both have to work plenty of overtime to comb through the extensive records, but they do good work and Bellamy is sure that with the right lawyer, they’ll be able to put the Wallaces away.

When he gets home after the arrest, after he’s done handing in the final paperwork on the case, all he wants to do is collapse onto the nearest comfortable surface. As he trudges up the last flight of stairs, however, he finds that his hallway isn’t empty. His partner is sitting propped against his front door, playing what he’s pretty sure (even though he can’t see it) is 2048 on her phone.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, backtracking at the hurt expression that flashes across her face. “Wait. Rewind and pretend I said something nicer. And asked you to come inside so we can have whatever this conversation is when I’m not about to fall on my face from exhaustion.”

“I’ll overlook your rudeness this once,” she says generously, following him in and perching on his coffee table so she’s facing him, instead of next to him on the couch as he expected. “I wanted to tell you… I had a conversation with the Captain today.”

“And you felt like delivering his ‘nice work, Detectives’ message was an in-person thing?”

“No, I wasn’t talking to him about the case. I wanted to ask him about the rules for dating coworkers.”

“Oh,” is all he can say. He does manage to sit up straighter. Smaller chance he’ll fall asleep on her that way, though the way this conversation is headed that’s becoming less and less likely. “Reyes finally come around, or…?”

“Not Raven.” She scoots forward so their knees are bumping and he can feel her breath on his face. She’s not quite as disheveled as he is, and that much beauty, this close, is a little much for him to take. “I asked specifically about partners who wanted to date.”

He wants to circle back around to this conversation she had with Kane, really get the play-by-play of how awkward it must have been for both of them, but there are more pressing issues at hand.

“What did he say?”

“We can find a way to work around it,” Clarke says, meeting him in the middle right as he moves to close the gap between them.

It’s as natural as anything, instinctual, like breathing. There’s a familiar push and pull, though they’ve never done this before. He would remember. She links her hands behind his neck and his rest on her knees, neither of them trying to take it any further tonight.

He knows they’re both dead on their feet, so he breaks away, stroking her cheek as he goes.

“I really, really want to continue this. And talk about feelings and shit, because I have a lot of thoughts about this development.” She presses her lips together like she does at work when she’s trying really hard not to laugh. He’s going to have to break her of that habit when they’re in private. “But I’m kind of afraid if I don’t go to sleep in the next ten minutes, I’m going to pass out on you and trust me, it’s not going to be pretty. You’re welcome to stay if you want. In fact, I’d prefer it, and not just because I know how dangerous this city is at night–”

“Bellamy,” she cuts him off, kissing him quick and light on the lips. “I’ll stay, just stop talking.”

He kisses her, longer and sweeter.

“You can take my bed.”

“With you in it, I hope.”

He leads her back to his room and she laughs when he hits the mattress and sighs out of bliss. “Who knew you were such a prude?” She teases, draping a blanket over them. He would help, but he can’t move. He’s utterly worn.

“We haven’t even had our first date yet,” he points out, sleep thick in his voice.

“Sure we did.” He can hear her smile, wishes he could open his eyes to see it. “On Valentine’s Day, no less.”

“We are never going to live that one down."

For all the years after that, he gets a lot of flak for making such a big deal out of the holiday, but he can take it. He got the girl, and that’s what counts.


End file.
